Shopaholic to the Stars (40 page)

And the Treasury. The
Treasury
. Who would choose the Treasury over Hollywood? Is he insane? I’ve been to the Treasury, and believe me, it has nothing to recommend it. I bet if you asked all the Treasury officials, ‘Would you rather be in Hollywood?’ they’d all march out in an instant.

And why did he have to make me feel guilty? I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. I don’t even know
why
I feel guilty. I’ve done nothing wrong except become the celebrity of the moment and want to take advantage of that. If Luke can’t see that, then maybe he shouldn’t work in the media. He should be
excited
.

I’m just summoning up my name on Google for the billionth time, when the door opens and in walk Dad and Tarkie. No, in
lurch
Dad and Tarkie. They’re arm in arm, and Dad bumps into the table and Tarkie bursts out laughing, and then he trips up on a chair.

I goggle at them in astonishment. They’re drunk? My father and Tarquin have gone out and got
drunk?
Why didn’t Suze stop them?

‘Where’s Suze?’ I demand. ‘Dad, what happened today? Did you meet Brent?’

‘I have no idea where my wife is,’ says Tarkie, talking with elaborate carefulness. ‘I have my friends and that is all I need.’ He claps Dad on the back. ‘Your father is a very, very, very …’ He seems to run out of steam for a moment. ‘Very interesting man,’ he resumes. ‘Wise. He understands. Nobody else understands.’

Dad lifts a finger as though he’s about to make a speech. ‘“The time has come,” the walrus said, “to talk of many things.”’

‘But Dad, where did you
go
? Is everything OK?’

‘“Of shoes – and ships – and sealing wax” …’ continues Dad, totally ignoring me.

Oh God, surely he’s not going to recite the whole of
Alice in Wonderland
, or whatever it is.

‘Fab!’ I say brightly. ‘Good idea. Would you like some coffee, Dad?’

‘“Of cabbages – and kings”.’ Tarkie nods gravely.

‘We know where the secrets are buried.’ Dad abandons Lewis Carroll and suddenly looks serious.

‘We know where the
bodies
are buried,’ chimes in Tarkie.

‘And the secrets.’ Dad turns to face Tarkie and taps his nose with his finger.

‘And the bodies.’ Tarkie is nodding earnestly.

Honestly, I can’t follow a word they’re saying. Dad gives a sudden gurgle of laughter, and Tarkie joins in. They look like two small boys playing truant from school.

‘Coffee,’ I say briskly. ‘Sit down.’ I head over to the kettle, and reach for our strongest espresso blend. I can’t believe I’m trying to sober up my dad. What is going on? Mum would be livid.

As I’m pouring hot water into the French press, I can hear Dad and Tarkie murmuring to each other behind me. I turn sharply, but they don’t even notice me. I hear Tarkie saying, ‘Bryce,’ and Dad saying, ‘Yes, yes.
Yes
. He’s the man. Bryce’s the man.’

‘Here you are!’ I put the cups down sharply, trying to shock them into sense.

‘Oh, Becky.’ As Dad looks up, his face is wreathed in fondness. ‘My little girl, a star in Hollywood. I’m so proud of you, Becky, my love.’

‘You’re famous,’ chimes in Tarkie. ‘Famous! We were in a bar and you came on the TV. We said, “We know her!” Your father said, “That’s my daughter!”’

‘I did.’ Dad nods drunkenly.

‘He did.’ Tarkie regards me solemnly. ‘What does it feel like, being famous, Becky? Fame!’ he suddenly sings loudly. For a dreadful moment I think he’s going to start singing the
Fame
song and dancing on the table, but he clearly doesn’t know the rest, so he just sings ‘Fame!’ again.

‘Drink your coffee,’ I say, but less sternly than before. I feel quite mollified by their interest. You see?
They
get it.
They
realize I’m famous. ‘It feels … well, I suppose I’ve got used to it now.’ I shrug carelessly. ‘I mean, obviously life will never be the same …’

‘You’re one of them.’ Dad nods sagely. ‘She’s one of them.’ He turns to Tarkie, who nods back. ‘She mingles with the famous people. Tell me who you’ve met, darling.’

‘Heaps of people,’ I say, basking in their admiration. ‘I hang out loads with Sage, and I met Lois, obviously, and … er …’ Who was that ancient guy at the benefit? ‘I met Dix Donahue, and I’ve got April Tremont’s phone number, she’s in that sitcom
One of Them
, and—’

‘Dix Donahue!’ Dad’s face has crinkled up with delight. ‘Now, he’s a big name. One of the greats. Your mother and I used to watch him every week.’

‘We got on really well,’ I boast. ‘We chatted for ages. He was such a nice man.’

‘Did you get his autograph for me?’ Dad’s face is all lit up with excitement. ‘Show me the book, love. It must be full by now!’

It’s as if something cold trickles down my back. Dad’s autograph book. Shit.
Dad’s autograph book
. I’d forgotten all about that. I don’t even know where it is. Still in a suitcase somewhere? I haven’t given it one single thought since I arrived in LA.

‘I … um …’ I rub my nose. ‘Actually, I didn’t get his autograph, Dad. It … it wasn’t the right time to ask. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh.’ Dad looks crestfallen. ‘Well, you know best, Becky. Whose autographs have you got?’

‘I haven’t … actually … got any.’ I swallow. ‘I thought I’d get to know the place first.’ I make the mistake of looking at Dad, and I can see from his face that he knows I’m lying. ‘But I will!’ I add hastily. ‘I’ll get loads! I promise.’

I get to my feet and start stacking plates from the dishwasher, trying to fill the silence in the kitchen. Dad doesn’t speak. At last I dart another look at him, and he’s just sitting there, his face craggy with disappointment. Tarquin seems to have fallen asleep with his head on the table, so it’s only me and Dad, not saying anything.

I feel all prickly with guilt and resentment and frustration as I crash the plates into their piles. Why does everyone keep making me feel
bad
about stuff? At last Dad draws in breath and looks up at me.

‘Becky, love, there’s something I’d like to say—’

‘Sorry, Dad,’ I cut him off. ‘I need to go and check on the children. I’ll be back in a while, OK?’

I cannot face one of Dad’s Little Talks. Not right now. I head upstairs and tuck all the children in, then lurk in Minnie’s darkened room for a long while, sitting with my head against her cot bars, listening to her twirly-ballerina music box.

I don’t want to see Dad. I don’t want to see Luke, either. Where’s Suze? I try her number, but her phone’s switched off. In the cot, Minnie gives one of her sleepy snuffles and turns over, sucking her rabbit, all cosy under the covers. I eye her enviously. Life is so simple for her.

Maybe I can fake some autographs in Dad’s book. Yes! Genius idea. I’ll pretend I bumped into a load of famous people at the filming. Maybe I could even forge Dix Donahue’s signature. I mean, Dad will never know the difference, will he? I’ll fill his books with autographs and he’ll be happy and it’ll all be good.

Feeling better, I switch on Minnie’s night light and reach for
Each Peach Pear Plum
. It’s one of my favourite books. I’ll read this, and perhaps
Guess How Much I Love You
too, and then I’ll go and check on my notes for the filming tomorrow. It’s a 6 a.m. call, so I need to get an early night.

And on the plus side, I’m totally prepared for the show. I’ve made about twenty pages of notes, with pictures and mood boards and everything. I’ve worked on every single fashion story I can think of, so I’ll be able to talk, whatever pieces they’ve chosen. Just thinking about it makes my stomach flutter. I mean, it’s
Breakfast Show USA
! It’s going to be huge! My career will be launched! And
then
everyone will see.

GREENLAND ENDEAVORS … where challenge and adventure meet inspiration …

OFFICIAL REPORT

Client:
Danny Kovitz

Subject:
Medical Emergency/Airlift

The client began to exhibit signs of distress early on Monday. Despite encouragement from the Team Leader and other team members, he finally stopped skiing, threw down his pack, and began sobbing. The client was airlifted at 15.00 hours, and taken to Base Camp on Kulusuk.

A full medical examination was undertaken and the client was found to be in good health, with no signs of frostbite or respiratory disorder. However, the client was in significant mental distress. Nurse Gill Johnson observed him for three hours, during which time she noted down the following remarks: ‘My toes have gone’; ‘My fingers will have to be amputated’; ‘My lungs have frozen’; ‘I have snowblindness’; ‘Why me?’; ‘I’m ebbing away’; ‘Tell the world I was brave at the end’. Despite her reassurances, he remained convinced for several hours that he was about to die.

The client subsequently enjoyed a substantial meal, viewed several episodes of
America’s Next Top Model
on the sanatorium TV, and slept a comfortable night before being transported the following day to Reykjavik and thence to New York.

Team Leader

From: Kovitz, Danny

To: Kovitz, Danny

Subject:
don’t know how i survived

dearest friends

despite my best endeavors my trek across the ice sheet ended prematurely when, against my own wishes, i was airlifted to safety. i wanted to continue but was told by the team leader that to do so would endanger myself and the others. you will be shocked to hear I was
near death
.

i feel heartache at leaving the expedition but i will always remember the soaring landscape and will recreate this in a series of winter white dresses for my next a/w collection, it will be called ice and pain and will use textured quilted fabrics with raw bone, nb tristan, plse have list of raw bone sources ready for my return.

i am now, on medical advice, checking in to a place of rest and recuperation. you can send flowers and presents to me via my new york office.

kisses

danny xxx

They weren’t interested in any of my notes. They didn’t even have any clothes in the studio. We didn’t talk about fashion at all. I’m sitting in the limo, numb with shock, driving away from the studios with Aran. How did that happen?

At first it all seemed perfect. The limo arrived at 6 a.m., and Jeff ‘secured’ it, while I posed for pictures taken by Lon and all his friends, who were yelling ‘Becky! Beckeeee!’ I was wearing my exclusive Danny Kovitz dress with a little shrug over it, and I felt just like a top-notch celebrity. Then we whizzed off to the studios, and I had my make-up done next to Ebony-Jane Graham, who is totally famous if you watch weight-loss programmes.

The host was called Marie and she was very smiley with enormous pearls. (And also a fairly enormous bottom, only you don’t see that as she sits on the sofa the whole time.) I was all set to start filming at 7.20, and I was dying of excitement, except my one niggle was: where were the clothes? When I asked the assistant producer, she just looked at me blankly and said, ‘You’re on to talk about Lois, right?’ There wasn’t time to protest because she bustled me on to the set, where I found not just Marie, but a kleptomania expert called Dr Dee.